


And, Scene!

by SeegerBean



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Dad Jokes, Gen, Mild Language, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeegerBean/pseuds/SeegerBean
Summary: When four rather disparate souls find themselves running a community theatre together, they must each confront their fears head on.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Act 1, Scene 1: Virgil

“Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice. As I’m sure you can understand, things can get a teensy bit crazy around here, so your flexibility is a plus! Now, your email said you were interested in being a member of our stage crew here at the  _ Mind Palace _ . What’s your favorite show?”

With every word from the peppy man in front of him, Virgil had come to regret his decision.

At first, when Virgil had learned that the old theatre in town was being revamped and brought back to life under new management, he had been (secretly) thrilled. For as long as he could remember, the building had been more or less decrepit, occasionally used by some film student who wanted to make a statement on The Arts, or something like that. He dimly remembered seeing people go in once, some production that had long since escaped his mind. When the building had been rendered safe, calls for people to fill the theatre on- and offstage were immediately sent out, and Virgil, with nothing else to do, had decided to give it a shot.

Now, however, he found himself face to face with the theatre’s new director, and was dreading it. This guy seemed to be made of everything that he wasn’t: chipper, merry, upbeat-- _ happy _ , and obnoxiously so. He glanced down at his own wardrobe--a well-loved hoodie and some black jeans he had found crumpled on his bed that morning--and compared it to the prep chic look of (here he looked at the little nameplate on his desk) Patton.

“Um, I’m sorry, my favorite play?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t want to talk about my qualifications or anything like that?”

“Oh, I let Logan handle all of that stuff, and he was quite impressed with what he saw! Four years of tech in college, another couple of years actually working with Hitchcoppolucas,  _ and  _ you directed your own production of  _ Guys and Dolls _ up in Placetown! Very well done, young man.” 

_ Aren’t we the same age? _ “Well, thank you. Um, I guess my favorite show would be . . .  _ She Fights Monsters _ ? I just really appreciate the plot.”

“Excellent choice! Welcome aboard!”

Virgil blinked a few times. “Wait, that’s it?”

“I mean, it is a volunteer position.” Patton shrugged as if that was explanation enough, and Virgil’s stomach sank.

“May I please speak to Logan? I just had a few questions.”

“Of course! I’ll fetch him for you right now!” With a dazzling grin, Patton was gone, leaving Virgil feeling more than a little irritated.

He knew he shouldn’t have expected anything too rigorous, it was unpaid and all, but the utter lackadaisical nature of the interview left him worried that he would be the only one taking anything seriously. He wanted Logan because, if he was the guy who took care of “all of that stuff”, he’d be the one to talk to properly. No offense to Patton, but he seemed flaky at best. 

“You rang?” 

Virgil was pulled out of his thoughts abruptly; the intruder sat down where Patton had been, his face one of practiced neutrality in comparison with Patton’s dopey grin. He wore a black polo shirt with a tie neatly knotted around his throat.

_ Nerd. _ “Yeah, um, thank you. I’m assuming you’re Logan?”

“Yes.” His face was perfectly blank, and his tone revealed nothing either. Despite having done nothing wrong, Virgil began to feel a little antsy under his gaze. 

“Patton said you liked my resume?”

“Well, whether or not I liked it is irrelevant. However, your previous experience is, to be frank, quite above what we were expecting to see. It would have been foolish on our part to not ask you to come aboard.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He had been hoping that talking to the serious one would calm him down; if anything, he only felt worse about coming in. This guy wasn’t just serious, he was borderline absurd, a theatrical automatron.

“Mr. Virgil--”

“Please, just Virgil.”

“--Virgil. I’ll be straightforward with you. I don’t understand why you’re here today. Patton is a charming character, but his role here is born more of Disney-esque romanticism than anything tangible. I’m here because he’s my friend, and because he promised me the dramaturg role. But we’re a community theatre. We won’t even be able to financially compensate anyone here for another season or two, at least. Why aren’t you working with an equity theatre instead of us?”

It was a good question, and Virgil could feel his stomach pull into a knot. He stammered for a moment, the sound of something rattling heavy in his ears, as Logan gazed on, impartial. Finally, Virgil caught a breath of air, and pushed out an answer, his voice reedy.

“Personal reasons.”

“Fair enough. Mr. Virgil, rest assured, Patton is many things: stupid is not one of them. This theatre is in good hands. Do you have any further questions for us at this time?”

“N-no.”

“Very well. Again, we really do appreciate you coming in on such short notice.” Logan stuck out his hand, and Virgil shook it timidly. Without so much as a backwards glance, the dramaturg left the small office, leaving Virgil to stew for a moment. Once he felt that he could stand, he did so, walking slowly out of the building. As he pushed the door open, he thought idly about the stack of job applications at home. Did he really have time to be wasting here? He needed to be focused on finances, something which was stretching dangerously thin. He knew Remus was relaxed about the rent, but he didn’t want to live with him for any longer than he had to. He was nice enough, but more than a little off. Once, Virgil had woken up to the sight of Remus standing in the corner of his room, his nose pressed into the wall. When he had questioned him, the only answer he could drag out of him was that he was curious about “the hidden life of the hatstand”.

Virgil’s thoughts were still swarming as he crashed into a man walking the other direction, sending both of them tumbling.

“Oh, shit, are you okay?” Virgil was the first to gain his footing, and he held a hand out for the stranger. He was wearing a white button-up, tucked into a pair of very expensive blue jeans. He took his hand slowly, brushing himself down self-consciously. 

“Dandy, when I’m not being headbutted,” he grumbled a bit. “Well, since you’re here, can you tell me where the  _ Mind Palace  _ is?”

Virgil silently gestured to the looming building directly behind them.

“Ah! Thank you, Mr. Billy Goat.” With a bit of a flounce, he was off, leaving Virgil confused and a bit irritated.

_ Billy Goat?? _ He watched the clean-cut stranger enter the theatre, hoping that he wouldn’t be hired. He wouldn’t want to work alongside someone so . . . him.

He went to his car, parked around back, ignoring the various lights that clipped on with his engine, telling him that he had a block, at best, before everything imploded. With a wheeze, the car rolled down the street to home, a mercifully short distance away. As Virgil drove, he began to think about what he had done. He had taken an unpaid position with a struggling theatre with people who would probably hate him. Of course they would, he was a grim mess, who wouldn’t hate him? He would go home and call Logan and tell him that he couldn’t join, something had come up. Easy enough. Then he’d go back to the McDonald’s and apply there. As his bank account diminished, so did his pride.

The apartment that he and Remus shared was decently-sized, with separate bedrooms for each, thank god. There were no locks anywhere, but Remus was usually okay about respecting his privacy. Usually.

Today, he found Remus sitting calmly in the middle of the room, eyes closed as he took deep breaths. For all of his weirdness, Virgil could handle this one. He shuffled into the kitchen, hoping that the bread hadn’t gone moldy yet. As he reached for a bottle of jam, there was a sudden screeching noise from Remus, nearly making him drop it.

“Dude! What the hell was that?”

Remus leapt to his feet, grinning wildly. “Hello, Virgil! How was the interview?”

“I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.” Virgil crossed his arms, staring his roommate down. He had a tendency to wriggle away from explanations if you let him.

“Oh! Well, I figured I would combine two separate modes of relaxation into the ultimate  _ soothing _ experience.” Remus emphasized his words uncomfortably.

“Scream therapy and meditation?”

“Twelve points for Slytherin!”

“Don’t--” Virgil took a deep breath. “Don’t call me Slytherin, we’ve been over that.”

“Whoopsies. Now, my answer!”

_ Ugh. _ “It was fine, I got the position. Unpaid.”

“What fun!” Remus busied himself in their common space, picking up socks and clothes he had left scattered. “And what about paying jobs?”

“Working on it.”

“You know, I could always ask some old friends of mine if they could throw you a bone. Maybe a whole skeleton.” Remus winked at his roommate, his arms now full of shirts. “I bet Jay needs someone in their restaurant.”

“Thanks, but I can’t do food service. Or retail.”  _ Or anything with anyone looking at me. _

Remus shrugged, sending a few socks careening to the ground. “Suit yourself. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.” He turned to go to his room, but stopped. “Again, congratulations on the theatre.” With that rare moment of groundedness, he left Virgil in the kitchen, now holding a half-eaten sandwich.

Virgil swallowed the bite that was in his mouth, frowning. He had been so sure about quitting this job as soon as he got home. How had Remus of all people make that sound less appealing? He took another small bite. It was because he had been sincere, dammit. Virgil had accomplished something today, money or not. 

He pushed himself up onto the counter, grabbing a blue folder from next to him, opening it up to reveal a bundle of job applications, gathered by him and Remus, with a few sent over by caring family. He sighed and began to flip through it. Might as well keep the achievement ball rolling.


	2. Act 1, Scene 2: Logan

If Patton made one more dad joke, he might just actually scream.

The two sat in one of the back offices, room temperature Chinese food sitting partially eaten between them. They had managed to finish all their interviews in one day; mostly because almost no one had applied. Him and Patton would be wearing the majority of the hats, especially as far as finances were concerned, but they still needed some support for when they couldn’t be in two places at once. Not for the first time, Logan mused idly on the possibility of cloning himself.

Luckily, the interviews had been a success. A few college kids would be working with their professor for extra credit, so they were set as far as a crew went. Their costume designer, while a touch flamboyant, was a notably hard worker, if his references were any indication. Logan was especially pleased with their new tech, who would undoubtedly have to wear a few hats himself. Sloppy as Virgil’s outfit was, his credentials would have him snatched up by half the state if they hadn’t gotten to him first. 

“Logan, you better eat your food before it gets too spicy,” Patton intoned with a certain level of sageness.

Logan started a bit, surprised out of his revelry. “Wha--Why would my food get spicier? I ordered honey chicken, it’s specifically not spicy.”

“Well, it might just get a little  _ chili _ !” Patton actually slapped his knee at that one, forcing Logan to take a very deep breath.

“Alright. Food aside, what do you think of our new crew? It’s certainly sparse, but if no one else applies, it’ll have to serve.”

“Logan, if you think we can do it with just four of us, I don’t see why we can’t. We just have to avoid getting too big for our britches, is all. Now, has anyone ever tried a one-man rendition of  _ Cats _ ?”

“. . . No, nor should they.”

“Ah, just as well, we both know I’m allergic.” Patton drummed his fingers on the table, humming to himself. “Whatever our first show is, it ought to have a smaller cast, and we’ll build from there.”

“Perhaps we can stage a reading? Have some of our local talent on stage, performing from their favorite poetry?” 

“It’s nice, but it’s not exactly the opening image we want, I don’t think.”

Logan pouted but said nothing. He wanted to read  _ Beowulf _ for an audience. Suddenly, he remembered something, a throw-away conversation from college, years ago. “Didn’t your old roommate write a play?”

Patton blanched. “Yes . . .”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“Well, sometimes. He’s a bit elusive, to say the least.”

Logan stood up to pace, not quite hearing his friend. He remembered getting a glimpse of the script once; it had been very good. “If he’s willing to let us use it for a reduced fee, it would save us a good deal of trouble. Plus, he’s from the area; we can use that to get more people through the door.” 

Patton sighed. “I’ll try to call him, but you remember what kind of person he was.”

He did, all too well. When they had first met, his roommate was shy, self-conscious, and frighteningly defensive. By the time they were graduating, he had managed to come out of his shell in the worst way possible, now smooth and easy-going like an unscrupulous salesman, and just as defensive as he ever had been.

“I’m not suggesting he be involved in the  _ Mind Palace _ to any degree; merely that, for an opening act, he might be useful.” Logan sat back down, spearing a piece of chicken on his fork as he did so. “We don’t even have to invite him, if he doesn’t want to show up.”

Patton nibbled on some rice, thinking. “I’ll shoot him an email later. It was a really good play.”

Logan smiled, a thin expression on his face. “Excellent. Once we have a response, we’ll gather up the other two and start this whole process. I’m sure they’ll have ideas for other shows as well. Ideally, we’ll have a satisfactory season.” He took another bite of food, content with the progress of the night. Across from him, Patton also ate, cheerful again. It always amazed him how quickly Patton was to forget troubles. He was always the first to break a silence, something he respected and resented in equal parts, depending on how wanted the silence was. Thoughts on Patton quickly returned to Virgil, and he was careful to hide the small frown that threatened to form. It excited Logan to no end to have someone else as obviously level-headed as him onboard, but he was concerned that that level-headedness was in fact deep cynicism; not an emotion unfamiliar to him, of course, but having Virgil second-guess Patton at every step would quickly turn ugly. He’d just have to keep an eye on him for a while.

“Patton, what did you think of Virgil?”

The director thought for a moment. There was a spot of sweet and sour sauce on his chin that was making Logan itchy to look at. 

“I think he’s fine! A bit somber, perhaps, but he’s probably the most qualified one here besides you. He might just be a little shy is all; he’ll warm up!”

“I hope so.” Logan wiped his chin, hoping for Patton to mirror him. Thankfully, he did. 

“Thank you. Which reminds me, I actually learned the other day why we call it sweet and sour sauce.”

“It’s sweet, and it’s sour, it’s a no-brainer.”

“No! Because it’d sound weird if we called it sour and sweet sauce!”

Patton’s delighted giggles were drowned out by the unholy sound Logan made.


	3. Act 1, Scene 3: Roman

Roman’s phone began to ring, “Defying Gravity” briefly filling up his car; after taking a moment to enjoy, he answered it.

“You have reached the ever-so talented Roman, leave a message at the beep. Beep!”

“Beep to you too, brother, just wanted to see how your morning was going. Everything’s splendid here! I learned that powdered sugar really is as flammable as those articles say it is!”

Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten. “Remus, we talked about this. No fire, no sharp objects.”

“But those are the fun objects!”

“I thought you were calling to support me?”

“Oh, yes! You’re working at that new theatre, right?”

_ I’ve only mentioned it fifteen times, you little psycho. _ “That’s right! You’re looking at the  _ Mind Palace _ ’s new costume designer.” He danced a little in his seat, immensely proud of himself. Sure, he’d rather be on stage, center of the audience’s attention, but it was almost as rewarding for his costumes to be on stage, soaking up that love. Almost. 

“So why didn’t you wait to audition like everyone else, my dear ham?” Remus’ nasally voice was gleeful in its needling.

“I’ll audition, but this will render me a much more permanent fixture on and off the stage. We’re building legacies, Remus.”

“I’m building a bomb!”

“ _ Remus! _ ”

“Just kidding! Kind of. I found a recipe for a bath bomb, and it’s going to be utterly decadent!” 

Roman wrinkled his nose, not pleased with that mental image. “Well. Good for you. I’m going to make the obligatory offer for a good word, if you wanted to work here as well.”

“Oh no, it’s much more fun to audition when no one knows who you are. Speaking of, if we’re talking about the same  _ Mind Palace _ , I just might know someone who works there. Besides you.”

How interesting. “Do you have a name, or are you going to do that thing where you’re not going to tell me until after I’ve already met them?”

“That thing!” Remus chuckled, a rather grating noise to Roman.

“Thank you for honesty, if literally nothing else. Not that it matters; I’ve already met Patton and Logan, and there’s no way either one of them could live with you. I’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

“I’m sure you will, Roman, you were always the smart one,” Remus yawned out in a droll voice. “Well, I’m off to go make my shower explosive, toodles!” He hung up before Roman could say anything, leaving his twin concerned with what Remus’ bath bomb might actually be.

Not too much later, Roman pulled up in front of the  _ Mind Palace _ , somehow looking palatial in spite of its weather-stained exterior. He looked at the email again, smirking to himself that he was right on time. He looked over himself one more time, making sure that he was at his most presentable. What Remus and everyone else called vanity, Roman preferred to consider self-awareness. He tucked a sketchpad under his arm and stepped out of his car, nerves nearly planting a goofy smile on his face. Instead, he swept his hair back and pushed through the front doors, ready to take on the world. Instead of the world, however, he was greeted with the sight of a startled Billy Goat.

“Oh. Hello . . .” What was he doing here? Roman looked at the Tim Burton reject suspiciously. “You’re the guy who shoved me over in the parking lot, right?” He knew damn well it was.

The stranger’s expression slipped from surprise to unhidden annoyance. “Yeah. Billy Goat.”

“No, no, I remember. What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms slowly. “I’m the technical director for the  _ Mind Palace _ . You?”

Roman couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small groan. “I’m costuming.” He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand. “Roman. You?”

The stranger took his hand, shaking it slowly. “Virgil. Your name sounds familiar, I think I’ve heard it somewhere.”

Roman’s expression only sank further. “You’re Remus’ friend, aren’t you?”

To his surprise, Virgil let out a sharp laugh. “Well, I’m his roommate. I guess I would be considered his friend by now. . .” Virgil’s face lit up as he connected the dots. “Oh! That’s it! You’re his brother!” He looked Roman up and down, now confused. “You’re his brother?”

“Yes, twins actually, if you can believe it.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

Roman opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the loud clap of someone’s hands.

“Alright, good afternoon people! And by people, I mean you two.” Patton chuckled as he entered the lobby, Logan following close behind. “Let’s go brainstorm on stage.” He waved his hand, motioning for everyone to follow him.

The stage itself was a bit shallow, but it made up for it with a wonderfully high crawl space and deep wings. Onstage room might have been more limited, but the technical capabilities were endless. Roman was already thinking about how to organize backstage, but was pulled from his thoughts when Patton cleared his throat.

“So! Do you two already know each other?” Roman and Virgil turned to look at each other, neither doing much to hide their mistrust.

“We’ve bumped into each other before,” Roman snarked.

“Great! No introductions needed!” Patton came up between the two of them, clapping them both on the back hard enough to nearly send them toppling. “On to business. We need to figure out what our first play of the season is going to be. Now, Logan and I are currently pursuing a lead, but we wanted to hear if you had any recommendations in the meantime.”

Roman’s hand shot up, earning a scoff from Virgil. 

“Yes, Roman?” 

“Well, people love musicals, so maybe something big and flashy. Perhaps,  _ Phantom of the Opera _ ?”

The three others all stared at him, slowly blinking.

“Well, um, that might be just a little expensive,” Patton slowly explained.

“And there’s no way we’ll have enough people audition for us to do that. Not to mention the physical restrictions, even in a building like this,” Virgil added in a bored voice.

Roman looked around at the others, feeling his face turning red. Perfect, the first time he opened his mouth in front of his coworkers, and he said the stupidest thing imaginable.

“Uh, yeah, of course it’s too expensive?” Roman scoffed. “That’s why it’s a joke, God . . .”

Logan sighed. “That’s fine, but we do need to come up with something today.” Roman stayed quiet, and Virgil made no motion to say anything. “Alright, we’ll just follow our lead. We’ll meet at the same time next week, with the play in hand. We’re going to be hitting the ground running, folks. Now then, before we disperse, let’s go examine the rest of the theatre. Maybe genius will strike you yet.”

When Roman got home, he sat in his driveway for a few minutes, resting his head on the steering wheel. What a colossal screw-up he had been! What kind of  _ moron _ would suggest freaking  _ Phantom of the Opera _ ? Of course they didn’t have the money, they hadn’t even sold their first tickets! He had made himself look like a tryhard idiot in front of Logan, Patton, and worst of all, Virgil. Roman sat up slowly, his vitriol turning from himself to the man in the purple hoodie. He lived with his brother, of course he was going to be some sort of weirdo. Well, he knew his brother. And if he knew his brother, he could stay ahead of Virgil. There was no way he was going to let him get the upper hand. 

As Roman entered his house, he already felt better. Sure, his start was slightly marred, but what mattered were the costumes. What was one day out of what was sure to be years of hard work? Roman the  _ Dunce _ would not be making a repeat performance. It was all uphill from here! He even began to hum a bit as he fixed up a cup of tea for himself. Maybe he should call Remus, just so that he didn’t hear anything from his roommate . . . He shook his head. It didn’t matter what Remus heard; he’d believe what he wanted to believe anyways. With a sigh, he grabbed his tea and sat on the couch. He wondered what their first production was going to be.


	4. Act 1, Scene 4: Patton

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel nervously. He had really hoped Logan was going to be able to come with him to this meeting, but there had been some minor plumbing emergency that needed his attention before it became a major one. So, Patton sat in his car in the coffee shop’s parking lot, taking deep breaths. He had been honest when he said that he didn’t talk to his old roommate often. What he hadn’t told Logan was that he had never been the first to reach out. 

As if on cue, there was a sudden rapping on his window. He jumped, turning to see his old roommate in the flesh. The last time he had seen him was shortly before graduation, dressed to the nines in a suit and bowler cap, going so far as to wear gloves. Now, he wore a slightly less formal button up, still paired with his ever-present hat. Patton couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the left side of his face, where a deep red scar ran from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear. He swallowed thickly and stepped out of the car.

“Hey, D. It’s been a few years.”

“Has it? I’d completely lost track.” D smirked in a way that made Patton feel like he knew how many minutes exactly had passed since they last spoke. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” His smirk dropped and he went in, not bothering to see if Patton was following. Patton took another deep breath and dragged his feet as he entered the otherwise friendly cafe. He fumbled with his order and found D sitting in a corner, sipping almost daintily at some tea. He carefully lowered himself into the seat across from him, staring down at his hands. The warm drink did little to comfort him.

“So. You had a proposal for me.” D sounded bored, as he always did.

“Yes, that’s correct. I don’t suppose you remember the old theatre in town.” Patton made an attempt to sit up a little straighter.

“Haven’t an idea what you’re talking about. But let’s assume I do, for time’s sake.”

“W-well, Logan and I are now co-owners of the  _ Mind Palace _ , that’s what we’ve named it, and we’re about to start our first season.”

The corner of D’s mouth jerked up, barely. “Interesting. I don’t understand what that has to do with me, though. You wouldn’t know, but I haven’t been involved in theatre for a couple of years now. These days, I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh, that sounds like a good fit!” Patton forced a smile. “Lucky for you, I’m not asking you to come aboard or anything like that--”

“Lucky me.”

“--But, I do remember that you wrote a play, back in college.”

D leaned forward. “And what makes you think I might even have it anymore? It was the idle writings of a boy, Patton, surely you remember that.”

It was Patton’s turn to smirk. “D, you wouldn’t throw out a post-it note with a stick figure on it, so long as you were the one to draw it. Besides, Logan and I both remember, it was a really good play.”

“It is a good play.” D pulled back slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. “And you want to put it on in hopes of a roommate discount, I’m guessing?” He held up a hand before Patton could speak. “Of course! Anything for such an old friend. I’ll even give it to you for free. I just ask that, periodically, I am allowed to stop by and give . . . author's notes.”

Patton sipped his drink, thinking. He knew D. “Periodically” would quickly turn into everyday if they let it. D was also the kind to walk away, script in hand, if they didn’t let it. He set his cup down and looked his old roommate in the eyes.

“Fine. But I am the director. We have a technical director already, and a costume designer. Your notes are going to be just that: notes.”

“But of course.” D was smiling broadly now, and stuck out a well-manicured hand. “Shake on it?”

Patton took his hand and shook it firmly, feeling all the world that maybe Roman hadn’t been wrong to suggest  _ Phantom of the Opera _ .

“Excellent. I’ll email you the PDF tonight. I very much look forward to our partnership.”

Dee stood up and walked out, leaving his tea unfinished across from Patton, who wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or afraid. He shot Logan a quick confirmation text and sipped at his hot chocolate, taking a moment to enjoy himself. When he finished, he ambled outside to his car, a small smile dancing on his face. All things considered, his meeting with D hadn’t been horrible, if not a bit uncomfortable. He’d have the play that evening, and they’d be able to move forward. As far as D’s “notes”, he’d be able to handle himself; he was a grown man now, not an anxious student.

As promised, Patton’s inbox pinged that evening, with a script titled  _ Types of Lies _ , initialed J.D. Patton realized with some trepidation that he wasn’t entirely sure what D’s full name was. Somehow, he had never seen it in writing, or heard anyone say it out loud.

Patton scrolled slowly, his upright position slowly leaning forward until his eyes were nearly glued to the screen. What little he remembered from reading it in college had clearly been rewritten several times, until it made that distant piece seem rough-hewn in comparison. In spite of himself, Patton could only grin. They had a show.


	5. Act 1, Scene 5: Virgil

Virgil entered the old building with a screwed-up expression, the giant thermos of coffee in his hand doing little to alleviate it. The previous night had been the latest in a series of restless nights, old fears and worries bubbling up in a noxious mixture that kept him tossing and turning until his alarm gleefully shrieked that morning had arrived.

“Good morning!” Patton yodeled as he walked in, only making Virgil’s face pull tighter. “Ooh, rough night, huh, kiddo?”

_ I might be older than you. _ “Yeah, that’s putting it mildly. It’s fine, I might actually be awake by the time this meeting ends,” he quipped, waggling his thermos as punctuation.

To his surprise, Patton guffawed at his little joke, slapping him on the arm. “We can only hope! Once Roman gets here, we’ll go ahead and start. While we wait, however, you can go ahead and take a look at this,” Patton directed, handing Virgil a copy of  _ Types of Lies _ . He looked behind Virgil, seeing if the door would open; when it didn’t, he hummed politely and disappeared downstairs. 

Virgil huffed a bit, looking down at the thick stack of paper thrust into his hand. He wrinkled his nose at the name: J.D. What, did Patton’s source fancy himself Salinger? He forced a chuckle, but felt uneasiness coiling up at the base of his skull. Those initials were so familiar to him; surely it was a coincidence? As he walked into the main stage area, however, the familiar prickle of anxiety began to take hold. What were the odds of a lead in this area being anyone  _ but _ him? He wasn’t so paranoid to think that he might have been targeted, but an unfortunate coincidence was just that: unfortunate. 

He idly flipped through the script; from what little he read, it was a series of vignettes, tracking the lies told by different people, with one particularly hapless liar wandering in and out of each scene, growing desperate in his falsehoods. Virgil closed the script abruptly, taking a few deep breaths. A story like this was right up D’s alley. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could hear a rattling that threatened to grow louder.

He had to quit. He had given it an honest shot and hadn’t immediately bolted like he was so tempted to, but this was too much. D would be there, and it would be just like  _ Guys and Dolls _ all over again. He would not let himself be humiliated like that again.

The sound of someone talking quickly pulled Virgil from his despair, and he looked up to see Roman frantically pointing at the script as he walked in alongside a very annoyed-looking Logan.

“For the last time, we will have regular auditions, and I don’t want anyone backstage getting a part just yet. It looks like favoritism.” Logan didn’t bother to even look over as he walked.

“Are we not the favorites yet? Besides, playing the mother character is a charming cameo, not favoritism.”

“Roman, you didn’t know this character existed five minutes ago. No.”

Roman let out a rather undignified whine that caught in his throat when he saw Virgil smirking at him. He stood up a little straighter, and quietly took a seat several chairs down. Logan sat down immediately next to Virgil.

“Have you had a chance to review the script yet?”

“Briefly. Interesting choice for our first play.”

Logan gave a slow nod. “It is, but it’s a favor from an old . . . acquaintance, so we don’t lose an arm and a leg to royalties.”

Virgil swallowed, shoving down the lump in his throat. “Is this acquaintance big at all in the local scene?”

Logan shrugged. “He’s not a nobody, if that’s what you’re asking. Did you recognize his name?”

“Maybe. Does he have a--” Virgil paused, not wanting to be indelicate, and instead silently drew a line from his lips to his ear.

“Yes, D was in an accident in college, and it left him with a scar.” Logan rattled it off very matter-of-fact, seemingly unperturbed. 

Virgil took a deep breath, an act made difficult by the fact that his windpipe suddenly felt like a straw. So. There was no doubt now.  _ D _ would be by this theatre at some point, maybe even soon. Maybe he was even on his way at that very moment. And the very moment he saw Virgil, everything would come crashing down, again, and he would be back at square one, again.

“Virgil!” Roman snapped his fingers in his face. “Are you there?”

Virgil jolted and looked around; three faces were staring at him, ranging from concerned to bemused.

“We’ve been calling your name for several minutes, are you okay?” Patton looked ready to call the hospital. “I can make you some more coffee if you’d like.”

“No, that’s, that’s okay.” Virgil managed to force a smile. “I just got lost in my head, where were we?”

Logan coughed. “We were doing a quick read-through. If anything pops out at you immediately, feel free to speak up. The sooner we brainstorm, the better.”

Virgil flipped through the pages, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t know what we were thinking for staging, but if it’s these back to back vignettes, I figure the more minimal, the better.” He paused on one scene where the main liar knocked over an urn and stayed silent as the urn’s owner accused the room. “And if we have this one main character, maybe we want to try a smaller cast. It’s easier to work with, and I think having the characters repeat around The Liar would be kinda cool.” He looked up at the others, suddenly realizing that he had managed to string together several full sentences in a row. 

Patton clapped his hands excitedly. “Ooh! I had the exact same idea!”

Virgil shrugged again, but couldn’t help from smiling a little. If he saw the look on Roman’s face, he did an excellent job of ignoring it. “Cool.” He opened up his script and continued to read along with the others; he was horrified to realize that the script was surprisingly good, managing to coax a few resistant laughs out of him. The reading was a little slow; Roman kept launching into lavish descriptions of how each character should dress (“I see a suburban mother, cold cream still on her face!”), and Patton would often stop people to praise them, perhaps a bit excessively. Despite this, Virgil left in a relatively good mood, humming a bit to himself on the drive home.

He stepped into his apartment to be greeted with the sight of Remus baking, wearing a frilly pink apron.

“Very classy,” Virgil noted.

“You’d be surprised how excited it gets you for baking. How was the theatre, deary?”

“Ech. Don’t call me that. Um, it was--” Virgil paused, shocked to realize that he was happy. “Huh. Pretty good.”

“Glad to hear it! And how is my brother?” Remus dipped over to the fridge, pulling out a jar of jelly.

“He’s fine, you’d probably know that better than me. He was pouting because he couldn’t audition for the first show.”

Remus scoffed. “That sounds like him. Well, if he’s ever too irritating, let me know, I’ll be glad to talk to him.”

“That’s fine. But, thank you.”

“Don’t be, I made him the same offer.” Remus cackled as Virgil made a frustrated noise. “Will you be wanting some cookies?”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil sat down at their table, idly glancing at his slowly shrinking stack of job applications. He had gotten a few calls, and felt much better about his position. Still, he wouldn’t be fully at ease until money started to come in. “Hey, did I ever mention a guy named D?” Remus shot him an absolutely devilish look and he blushed. “ _ Not _ what his name means.”

“No, I don’t think you have. To be perfectly frank, you’re a bit of a friendly stranger in these four walls.” Remus bustled about as he talked.

Virgil said nothing, not liking his roommate’s assessment of him. He wasn’t wrong. Besides, Remus was all sorts of weird, so it shouldn’t have mattered to him. Still, it rankled. “Well, either way, he was a guy I used to know. And, apparently, he might be coming back into my life.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, tell Remus about his plans to slip out, but he thought about how comfortable he had felt that day. His anxiety was replaced by another emotion: fury. D would not push him out. D would not humiliate him again. He had, maybe, found his niche, and he wasn’t about to let a sewer dweller like D take it from him.

“Motivated.”


	6. Act 2, Scene 1: Logan

Logan should have been over the moon. What he had expected to be difficult was going swimmingly. The college students all had pretty good heads on their shoulders and wouldn’t be a big source of concern. The repairs necessary for the  _ Mind Palace _ were progressing smoothly, even pulling slightly ahead of schedule. Social media seemed to be reacting well to the news of their first show, which would end up costing them practically nothing to put on. 

Instead, Logan found difficulty in what should have been easy for him: his co-workers. As he walked in that day, he was disheartened to hear that Virgil and Roman had come in ahead of him.

“Alright then, Gerard Way-over your head, what do you propose for the jock?”

Virgil made an irritated sound. “Joke’s on you, I kinda like that nickname. And I’m not saying to not do a wig, I’m just saying to keep the lighting in mind. Do you really want a shiny gold wig to be the only thing the audience sees?”

Logan was tempted to walk out the door immediately and call in sick for the day. What had started off as mild sniping at each other had quickly progressed into endless arguments for the sake of arguing, solving nothing. Roman, while obviously talented at his work, had brought along an ego that none of them expected, and Virgil seemed unable (or unwilling) to not attempt to deflate him where he could.

“If lights are the issue, I’ll find something that’s non-reflective. We can cut the blonde idea.” 

“So long as it doesn’t look like your hair, no problem.”

“We have practically the same haircut!” Roman whined.

Logan saw red. He walked in, unsure of what he was going to say, and when he saw them, posturing like competing cheerleaders, he lost his cool. He crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand and threw it recklessly, happening to catch Roman in the eye.

“Ow!” Roman looked over at the dramaturg, shocked and squinting. Virgil also looked surprised at the sudden storm that had blown in.

“Both of you. I get that this is just a volunteer position, but I would expect just the  _ slightest _ modicum of professionalism and dignity from you. Instead, I have to listen to gibbering monkeys flinging proverbial poo.”

Roman and Virgil snickered at the absurd mental image, choking back their giggles when Logan shot them both daggered looks.

“Now, let’s resolve this as best we can. Roman. If Virgil tells you something won’t work on stage, listen to him. It is not a personal attack.”

“Okay. . .”

“And Virgil. Really? Wigs have been onstage for centuries, don’t make up stuff just to pick on him.”

Virgil huffed. “He wanted a golden wig. That won’t reflect?”

“I said golden-blond, I didn’t mean shiny metallic wigs. This isn’t  _ Star Wars _ .”

“Then call it plat--”

“Stop it! Enough!” Logan exploded, staring at them with a mixture of anger and amazement. “This has been going on since we got these scripts, and I’m ending it today. Go home, meeting’s over. If you can’t walk in here next meeting with the bare minimum level of cohesion, I won’t hesitate to fill your positions with someone more deserving.”

Virgil and Roman gave each other disgusted looks and started heading for the door.

“Virgil. A word.”

Roman sneered at Virgil as he walked out the door, leaving him to lope slowly back to Logan.

“I don’t usually pry into people’s personal lives, because it’s none of my business, but ever since we decided that we would be working on this play, you’ve been growing increasingly snide with Roman. So . . .” Logan made a vague hand gesture, unsure of how to end his question. He hated getting involved in people’s drama, an irony that was not missed on him. At least on stage, people had scripts, easy conclusions. The people around him were not so well-written.

Virgil sighed. “I suppose I’m . . . a little anxious. I think we briefly discussed that I used to know D.”

“Not particularly. You insinuated that you were familiar with him.”

“Well, we worked on a production of  _ Guys and Dolls  _ together, and it sucked.”

Logan nodded slowly. “I’ve known D since college. He can be an unpleasant sort to deal with.”

“Yeah, well, he nearly gave me an anxiety attack,” Virgil snipped. “He would constantly second-guess my work, and that only made me triple-guess myself. I-- It’s--” He spluttered, his words stumbling on top of each other. “He’s a manipulative, grubby liar, and I don’t want to work with him!” Virgil stood in front of Roman, his arms outstretched, a pained look on his face.

Logan looked Virgil over before taking a deep breath. Not an ideal situation to be sure. There was a knee jerk reaction to just dismiss Virgil and tell him to get over it, but years of being Patton’s friend had smoothed his edges, if ever so slightly. He looked at the distressed man in front of him and sighed, placing an awkward hand on his shoulder. “Alright. We can’t change the scrip. It’s a little too late for that, and I will let you know that D will be stopping by at some point. However,” he quickly added when he saw the panic on Virgil’s face, “that shouldn’t be until closer to production. If and when he shows up, you will not have to interact with him. I will see to it personally, okay?” He moved his hand in an approximation of a patting motion.

Virgil’s face softened, although he still looked unsure. “I suppose so. But, what if he asks to see me personally? Maybe he’ll try the same stuff again. What if--”

“I won’t let him.” Logan surprised both of them with the forcefulness in his tone. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Like I said, I’ve known D for quite some time now, as has Patton. I will discuss this with him privately, and neither one of us will allow him any room for mischief. To be honest, Patton has had reservations about him from the start, so I don’t foresee him allowing him any room anyways.”

Virgil looked almost placated. “Thank you.” He stuck out an awkward hand, which was shaken just as stiffly. As he made to leave, Logan put out a hand to stop him.

“I understand that Roman can be difficult to get along with. If you have any future difficulties, please talk to Patton. He’s much better at that interpersonal stuff.”

Virgil cracked a grin. “I don’t know, you just did a pretty good job.” With that, he finally left.

Logan stood in the theatre, alone. He pulled out his phone, punching in Patton’s number. As he did, he felt a smile tugging on his lips. He felt something that he usually reserved for his accomplishments as a dramaturg.

Proud.


End file.
